


Pollen

by wretcheddyke



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Time, Sex Pollen, all the fucking tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24790249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretcheddyke/pseuds/wretcheddyke
Summary: Yaz and the Doctor get locked in an isolation pod together while under the effects of a very potent aphrodisiac
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	Pollen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Champagne_Vagabond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne_Vagabond/gifts).



Gaeasaella is swimming with wild plants. Plants so big Yaz can hardly comprehend them; flowers the size of armchairs, so large their stalks struggle to support their weight. They hang with their heads heavy under a setting sun, giving the impression of being worn out from a long day — full of sleepy tranquillity.

“It’s beautiful,” Yaz murmurs, fingers tracing the petals as they walk through dense forest.

“Not bad, ey?” The Doctor beams. “Not really s’posed to be here, I won’t lie. This area’s cut off to to the public.”

“What, like a nature reserve?” Graham asks, dabbing his brow; it’s warm here, humid like a greenhouse.

“Exactly! Humans aren’t the only ones with a tendency to destroy beautiful places,” she squats to the floor to observe a small shrub, glittering with rich blues. Yaz thinks it looks artificial.

“What do the populated parts of this planet look like?” Ryan calls from the back of their group as they walk in tight single file.

“Hmm,” she cocks her head to one side in consideration, “Huddersfield, I’d say.”

“Oh, so we get the peak district and they get this? That don’t seem fair,” Graham snarks.

“I’m sure the Numunds would have much the same to say about this place. Grass is always greener, Graham.” She comes to a halt in front of a giant red flower hanging down from high branches, gleaming at them. The Doctor peers into its open mouth, inspecting the anthers before whipping out her sonic.

“Biggest lily I’ve ever seen,” Yaz says, gawping over her shoulder.

In a sudden spurt, the flower erupts.

The Doctor swerves backwards into Yaz who steadies her by grabbing her hips. “Pfft,” she spits the dusting of pollen out her mouth and wipes her face, “well that were rude!”

“Oh my god,” Yaz cackles, stepping away before it can erupt again. The red power is so smooth on her skin, it feels like getting doused with talc. “What was that?!” She laughs as she wipes it from her nose.

“Some plants dose wild animals with their pollen as a way of distributing their seed, must’ve thought I were a rabbit or a Sasquatch,” she muses.

“A Sasquatch? You’re havin’ me on!” Says Graham. “You two look a right pair—enjoy Holi, did you?” He slaps Ryan on the shoulder who observes them with a laugh.

The Doctor looks down at her coat, completely covered in luminous vermillion. “We should probably head back to the TARDIS. Pollen’s an inflammatory thing—imagine the hay-fever this’ll give you!”

With that, they turn back, re-walking the path they came. The setting sun feels so warm on Yaz’s skin, she swears the evening air feels warmer than the day. Still, she presses on, observing the flowers with a little less enthusiasm the second time around.

“Alright, cockle?” Graham calls over his shoulder, “Lookin’ rather sweaty, I must say.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yaz waves him off, “hot out ‘ere, innit?”

“Really hot! Really, really—proper hot,” the Doctor pants from the back, “are you guys not hot?”

“Nope,” Ryan turns as her approaches the TARDIS, “you look proper weird, y’think that plant got t’you?”

When they gather outside the TARDIS, Yaz turns to observe the Doctor’s appearance: her face is flushed in a way Yaz has never seen before and her hair sticks to her temple with sweat, the moisture causing it the curl adorably. _Adorably?_ Honestly, she looks exactly how Yaz feels. Her heart rate’s elevated and her skin feels like it’s on fire; she could melt an ice cube with heat radiating off her face.

“Hmm,” the Doctor observes Yaz’s complexion and then checks her own pulse, “step back, Ryan and Graham. Nothing to worry about—yet.”

“Yet?!” Yaz feels her heart rate quicken further as the Doctor scans her with her sonic.

“Contagious,” she confirms when she looks at her readings. “Not to worry! Ryan and Graham, stay here for ten minutes. I’ll take Yaz to the isolation pod on the TARDIS. She’ll decontaminate herself and then you can come on board. Yaz, come with me.”

The Doctor’s hand slips into hers as she pulls her towards the blue box. Soft skin feels like silk despite the clamminess. It soothes Yaz’s nerves and she takes a moment to appreciate the feeling. _Why am I enjoying this? I’ve been poisoned!_

“I’m so sorry about this, Yaz,” the Doctor cringes as they walk the corridors towards the medical wing. “I really should’ve been more careful.”

“It’s fine, Doctor. Y’didn’t know it would do that,” she reassures her. “Any idea what kinda plant it was?”

“Not yet. Pollen sample should tell us that.” She pushes open a door. It’s a lot bulkier than the other TARDIS doors, a least three inches thick, and leads to a white room. It’s like walking into an empty hospital ward, three beds lining the walls look entirely unused. Everything is crystal white, sanitised. The door hisses shut behind them. “Well be safe in here—or, Ryan and Graham’ll be safe from us.” She marches off towards to lab area at the side, eying the various pieces of equipment but careful not to touch anything. “We should decontaminate,” she says, “there’s a shower and scrubs in here we can wear.”

The process of discreetly stripping and showering in front of the Doctor in a room the size of a church hall isn’t something Yaz had particularly prepared for. Yaz’s stomach flips when she sees the makeshift decontamination shower. _No curtain._

“Y’can go first. I mean—if you want. Or I—“

“Yeah. No, yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.” _Fuck_. It’s a relief to pull her jacket off, she’s burning up so much, but she misses it as soon as it’s gone and all that’s left to remove is her clothes. She pulls off her top and trousers with a false sense of confidence. _It’s fine. It’s just clothes._ The cool air on her exposed thighs and tummy slow her moves. With the various bits of lab equipment dotted around, it feels like stripping in the middle of her biology classroom. _Grow up, Khan._ The Doctor’s face is glued to the computer screen while Yaz dallies behind her, hopping from foot to foot with nerves. _Just do it, she’s not even looking._ She whips off her bra as fast as she can and shoves her pants down her legs before she can lose her nerve.

Just as she’s pulling the last bit of fabric from her ankles the Doctor spins around causing her to jump.

“Oh—Sorry,” she averts her eyes to the ceiling while Yaz stands before her fully nude, “Can y’just—Um, put them… in here,” she holds out a clear plastic bag.

Yaz stares at it dumbly for a moment and then glances at the underwear still in her hand. _This is the worst moment of my life._

“I mean, all y’clothes—Not just…” the Doctor follows Yaz’s gaze on instinct before snapping it away and visibly cringing. She can’t tell if she’s blushing or just flushed from the pollen.

“Right! Yeah, course,” she gives a forced breezy laugh and snatches the plastic from her hand.

The cold water is a god-send for her sweltering skin. It’s like standing under raining crystals as the ice droplets soothe her and quell her racing heart. The shower is hardly a dribble—not like the other TARDIS showers—it hangs from an exposed pipe and the head is made of red plastic. The water disappears down a drain in the floor but there’s no distinction between shower and room.

“Is this long enough?” Yaz asks under the spray. When she opens her eyes she’s humiliated to see the Doctor pointing her sonic at her naked body and scanning her. She has the good grace to look away as she does so, at least.

“All clear,” she concludes at the results. “There’s scrubs in that cupboard,” she gestures across the room, a good few metres away. “Um, sorry, I can’t get them for you. I’m still contaminated.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assures. It’s kind of endearing the way the Doctor refuses to fully face her, body angled towards the wall and her eyes on the ceiling. Yaz hesitates for only a second before padding off across the room to the towels and scrubs, palms covering her breasts.

The cold shower had only smothered her symptoms for a second. As she slips into the light blue scrubs, the heat in her cheeks starts to creep back in, a slow fog over the planes of her face. It’s an odd sensation as if a fire was burning within her.

Her symptoms are only magnified when she turns around to see the Doctor stark naked under the shower. Her face is to the water, hands in her hair with her eyes shut. _Fuck._ Yaz got excited when she got to see her out of her coat, let alone this. Her skin is perfectly smooth, only flushed around her chest. _Look away, look away._ Yaz can see her ribs as she leans up towards the water. It trickles down her body, taking red pollen with it, following the curves of her breasts, over pink nipples, and down towards the blonde hair between her legs. The droplets look possessive of the medicine Yaz needs and she’s hit with the sudden want to lick them from her skin—

A jolt of panic is sent through her when she looks up to see the Doctor watching her right back. They make eye contact for a fraction of a second before Yaz stares at the floor, embarrassed at being caught looking. _Shit, shit, shit._ When a very naked, very drenched Doctor stops the water and starts walking right towards her in confident strides, fear grabs her. _What’s happening?_ Water drips from her body as she approaches, closer and closer. Yaz is just about to say something, apologise maybe, when she grabs a towel from the shelf beside Yaz. _Oh, right._

“So,” she starts, tapping away at the computer after dressing, wet hair combed back with her fingers, “good news is, symptoms should pass on their own.”

“Okay,” Yaz eyes her curiously, “and the bad news?”

“Well, it could also get worse. But there’re… things we can do to deal with that. If it comes—um, if we get to that point.”

_Why’s she acting so weird?_ “So we just wait it out? For how long?”

“Yep! Should be over the contagious stage after a seven-hour period.”

Yaz’s eyebrows shoot up. _Seven hours. Trapped in a room with the Doctor. That’s fine._ “Right,” she says, “we’ll get settled in then, shall we?”

“Hm,” she agrees with a quick nod and then turns to her lab.

Yaz quite literally can’t stop staring as she watches the Doctor potter about, looking through all the medicines and equipment stores. She looks so different out her usual clothes and it drives Yaz wild. The burning across her skin is becoming more and more difficult to ignore and with every breath the rough material of her scrubs chafe across her sensitive nipples, sending waves of heat to her core each time. She’s practically throbbing at the sight of the Doctor’s dexterous fingers handling glass vials. _Get a grip, Yaz._ When she moves her thigh she can feel how wet she is and the tiniest bit of friction is so intense her vision clouds for a moment. _Okay, conversation. That’ll help._

“What are y’doing?” She coughs to clear her throat of any sign something’s up.

“Spot of reorganising,” the Doctor muses.

“Doesn't the TARDIS do that for you?”

“Yeah but.. I could do with the distraction,” she says as if there’s a double meaning.

“I’m that boring?” Yaz pokes.

When the Doctor finally looks around her pupils are blown wide and it takes Yaz’s breath away. “That’s definitely not what I meant,” she smiles, quickly turning back to her work. As soon as she’s looking away again Yaz wonders if she made the whole thing up. “How d’you feel?” She asks, grabbing something from a draw.

“Hot,” Yaz perches herself on the side of a bed, “really hot.”

“Open up,” the Doctor holds out a thermometer and Yaz instinctively complies, opening her mouth to take the probe. It feels oddly charged as soon as she closes her lips around it, the Doctor holding it in her mouth. _Relax, Khan._ “Thirty-eight point two.”

“That’s not good.”

“No. But manageable,” she pops the device back in its container. “Any new symptoms?”

“Um, no,” _Being horny isn’t a symptom, Yaz._ “Just hot. You?”

“Same,” she says, not breaking eye contact. “Just hot,” she fakes an air of casualness but it’s transparent, to say the least. Then she’s dragging herself away back to the lab, fiddling with her supplies. _What is going on?_

“Doctor,” she starts slowly, “what were really in that pollen?”

Her eyes snap up, “why?”

“I… I have I right to know,” she counters.

“Right—Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” she puts her vials down and starts pacing in front of Yaz, “Um—So that plant, it’s responsible for a lot of the wildlife and plant-life in that forest. It—um. Well, it encourages reproductive cycles,” she scrunches up her face and runs a hand over the back of her neck. _So horny is a symptom._ “Forces it in some cases—But not us! Probably. It’s more of a… very strong suggestion.”

_Oh, god._ Doused with sex pollen and locked in a room with the woman you’re fantasising about. _Brilliant._ Her mind is running a mile a minute, she’s so swept up in one anxiety she’s skimmed over one much more pressing. “…What d’you mean ‘probably’??”

“In very rare cases there would have to be… intervention if y’heart rate got too high.” She lingers on the word intervention as if it feels criminal on her tongue.

“Intervention,” Yaz echos.

“You’d have to… Y’know,” she gestures vaguely at Yaz’s crotch and then regrets it, letting her hand wander through the air aimlessly. “If you… orgasmed”— _fuck_ —“it would release the right neural chemicals to essentially kill the pollen.”

“Right,” Yaz clears her throat again, holding on to any last shred of professionalism possible. “But that’s…”

“Plan B.”

“Course—Yeah. Plan B.”

There’s a long beat where neither of them know what to do. Every flicker of desire that spills through Yaz is doubled when she realises the Doctor is feeling the exact same thing. Her eyes drift over the body before her as if she might be able to see evidence of the energy running through it.

The Doctor clears her throat. _Shit, Yaz. You perv._ “Well, I’ll just,” she points back to her lab. 

“Did y’know what it was?” Yaz asks. “Before y’locked us in here, I mean,” she tries keeping her voice airy.

“No, Yaz. I promise. I knew it were contagious but I didn’t know it would make us… I didn’t know it’d do this. I’d never put you in a situation like this on purpose,” she says with a moment of rare clarity in her dark eyes.

“I know, I know. I trust you, Doctor,” she rubs her sweaty palms over her knees. “What d’you think Ryan and Graham are up to?”

“Oh, definitely eating the TARDIS kitchen out.”

“Oh my god, Doctor,” she gives a stern warning look but can’t help bursting into laughter as soon as the Doctor realises the smutty innuendo.

“Sorry,” she lilts and scrunches her nose, “didn’t hear it ’til I’d said it.”

Yaz leans back against the cool tile as they laugh and it feels nice against her neck, lightening the weight of the heat just as the laughter lightens the mood. _This is the weirdest day of my life._

“Y’should try sleeping,” the Doctor says after the laughter dies. “I’ll keep an eye on your temperature.”

It sounds like a good idea to Yaz. The only escape from here for the next seven hours is her own mind. With an icepack on her head, she sinks easily into the depths of her dreamworld; lulled by the heavy heat that weighs on her like a blanket.

_She’s in the TARDIS—the console room, to be precise—but the roof is missing and it’s just open space above her head. Deep space speckled with stars and planets. As she’s looking up at Venus, a pair of hands snake their way around her waist; firm and confident but not jarring. It’s nice, actually, the heels of disembodied hands pressing into her sides. She observes them curiously as they push further around and begin purposefully undoing the button and zip on her jeans. She doesn’t stop them when one pushes into her underwear and begins inquisitively playing with her. The warmth spreads to her legs. There’s something about the way they move that feels familiar to Yaz, the way they poke and spread and investigate. She can feel the pressure of a warm body behind her, pressing into her back. The friction, real or imagined, is building something deep within. Pulling a string tight inside her. Pleasure begins to ripple through her. As the hand moves down, fingers pushing inside her as if just curious to see what would happen, a grey sleeve at the wrist is revealed. The recognition hits Yaz like a tonne of bricks and she gasps,_ Doctor _._

The realisation wakes her with a jolt. When she opens her eyes she’s met with blown pupils hovering above her.

“Yaz! Yaz, wake up!”

_“Doctor,”_ it comes out as a low groan. Yaz can still feel the dream-fingers insider her, fucking into her. _Am I still asleep?_ Before she can comprehend where she is and what’s going on, her cunt starts clenching down around her fingers— _my fingers_ —and her body is shuddering. _“Oh, fuck…”_ She doesn’t need to look down to know she’s fucking herself. A cold chill tingles down her spine while her legs spasm — there’s no stopping it now.

The Doctor’s eyes go impossibly wider when she realises what’s happening—“Oh, Yaz…”—Yaz knows this because she’s looking directly into them as she comes undone beneath her. _Fuck._ She’s fucking herself in front of the Doctor and coming while looking into her eyes and it’s so surreal she can’t quite believe it. Everything is moving so quickly and so painfully slowly. She can’t quite find the motor function required to pull her hand away, either. So she doesn’t. She rides the final waves of her orgasm, eyes locked on to the woman above her. _She’s not pulling away either._

Only when the clouds of pleasure ebb do the consequences of her actions start to settle.

“I’m…” the Doctor breathes above her, “Sorry I… I thought I should wake you when you… I didn’t know you were—”

“Sorry!” She cuts her off before she can finish that sentence. Hot flames of embarrassment engulf her as she lays there wishing the bed would swallow her whole. The Doctor’s eyes flicker down when she pulls the fingers from her underwear and Yaz knows they’re are glistening so she tucks them under her leg. _I need to sit up._ She feels small under the Doctor’s height. “I didn’t mean to…” She sits and it’s so much worse because now she’s level with the Doctor and she _still_ hasn’t moved away.

‘It’s fine,” the Doctor whispers, glancing at her mouth. “Did you… finish?”

“Um, a bit.” _Oh, god. Please kill me._

“Okay. Good,” she swallows dryly, “I bought y’some ice. Love ice, me. Water but frozen—brilliant.” There’s a pitiful looking plastic cup filled with melting ice cubes in her trembling hand.

Yaz swings her legs off the side of the bed so the Doctor is practically stood between her knees. Everything is so hazy, embarrassment struggles for her attention but desire has already won. She’s ravaged by it.

The Doctor passes the ice cubes but doesn’t move an inch away. The close proximity is all-consuming and so ridiculously unnecessary in this huge room Yaz can’t help but swelter beneath it.

“Let me redo y’temperature,” the Doctor suddenly breaks, pulling the thermometer from her pocket.

Yaz looks up under her lashes as the thermometer slips into her mouth, her head full of other variations of this scenario: the Doctor stood over her, a strap around her— _Stop it, Khan._ Her knees are pressed up against the Doctor’s thighs as she stands between her. It spreads her slightly, making the dull throb between her legs, not even slightly assuaged by her orgasm, ever more noticeable. The point of contact is so hot it feels like they could be set alight at any moment. _So close_. The eye contact is so intense she thinks the Doctor must be able to hear her screaming internal monologue: _just do it, just use me._

“Thirty-eight point seven,” she whispers, all dreamy.

Her eyes drift to the Doctor’s chest; it’s heaving and Yaz can see her nipples through the fabric. She's not even bothering to hide the blatant ogling anymore, her mind is so overrun with lust. “Is that bad?” _Please be bad._

“Um… It’s not good,” she rests a hand against Yaz’s forehead and it feels like electricity. “How do you feel?”

“Y’don’t wanna know,” she breathes out a laugh.

“Tell me, Yaz.” The look in her eye and the heaviness in her voice takes Yaz by surprise. It feels more like she’s asking for a graphic description than a list of symptoms.

“Feels like am on fire. Every touch feels like it’s burning, I can feel every inch of skin,” she sighs and glances to where their legs touch, clamping around them to hug her with her knees. “I were dreaming about your hands.”

_“Yaz…”_

_“_ I can still feel them inside me,” she sighs and inches closer to her mouth. “It hurts… it hurts so _much_. Do y’feel it too, Doctor?” Her lips are just barely grazing the Doctors and it feels like kissing the sun.

_“Yes,”_ she all but exhales into Yaz’s mouth, letting it echo around, a helpless voice in a cave.

“Help me,” she breathes, all sense of self-consciousness lost to the pollen, “and I’ll help you.”

The fires of Pompeii don’t compare to their molten kiss. It’s so hot it makes Yaz’s cheeks burn and her eyes water. Their faces are clammy and the Doctor’s damp hair tickles her face. It’s all tongues and hands and Yaz feels tastebuds rough on her lip. _The Doctor’s tongue. Ok._

Amongst the haze of the kiss she senses movement; a soft hand guiding her knee, aligning it with the Doctor’s core. By the time she looks down, the Doctor is already rocking against her leg, humping her like a feral dog. _Fuck._ She grabs her hips to encourage her to pick up the pace. Her face is contorted in more pain than pleasure; it’s not enough. “Can you come like this?”

The Doctor whines and shakes her head no.

Without hesitation, Yaz yanks her scrubs down around her knees while the Doctor grabs her wrist and pulls it towards her cunt; they work in tandem, no space for inefficiency. When she touches her she gasps on reflex; Yaz has never touched anyone that wet before. “Oh fuck,” she exclaims.

“I know,” she searches for her lips, “please be quick.”

She slips two fingers inside without resistance, then adds a third for luck. The feeling of being inside her is incomprehensible. She’s not even sure this can be defined as her fucking the Doctor when most of the work is coming from the frantic motions of her hips and the tight grip she still holds on her wrist. All Yaz can do is curl her fingers and try and find a pattern in her erratic grinding. She’s just about to tell her to stay still when she feels sharp claws digging at her shoulders and the Doctor’s cunt tightening around her fingers.

_“Ohh, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz…”_

Yaz manages to slip off the bed and twist them around before she can collapse completely. But she’s not done there. The Doctor looks a sight with her scrubs around her ankles and her shirt still on; Yaz can’t help sinking to her knees. She places both hands on her thighs, secures a silent nod of approval and then pushed her tongue into lava rivers.

_“Oh, Yaz!”_

She’s salty and heavy, Yaz is immediately consumed by her. She has a brief moment of panic when she really considers what she’s doing. She’s wanted this for so long, a desire so great it had settled in her brain chemistry and changed the way she viewed the world — and that was before the pollen. How could this possibly be happening? Maybe she’s still dreaming? Maybe she’s dead?

The Doctor’s legs landing on her shoulders snaps her out of it. She scoots back on the bed and pulls her knees up until she’s so incredibly spread Yaz can see every inch of her under the harsh medical bay lighting, glistening and pink. It makes her throb. The intensity is so much, she doesn’t hesitate to push her hand back into her scrubs only to be met with sopping heat.

She doesn’t stop licking and sucking until the Doctor is shuddering again under her mouth. She comes herself at the sight of the Doctor’s pulsing cunt. _“Fuck, Doctor,”_ she moans into her as waves of molten pleasure ripple through her. She rests her head on a thigh for a moment while she recuperates.

She feels mildly cooler when she stands on shaky limbs. The Doctor has tear tracks on her face from coming so hard. With her wet hair and sweat patches on her scrubs, she looks drowned. Yaz has never seen anything like it. “Y’okay?” She asks with newfound clarity, suddenly feeling awkward and wondering how to act.

“Yeah,” she nods and, surprisingly, pulls her in for another kiss. “Y’really good at that,” she smiles.

“Think that were the pollen,” Yaz smiles back.

“Hm, we’ll see,” she says ever so casually before licking across her bottom lip. “I mean…” she pulls back, “we might. We could. Could we?” _Is she… really asking me that?_ “Question for another time, probably,” she kisses her like she’s addicted to the feeling of Yaz’s mouth, “can I do that t’you now?” Her hands fiddle with the elastic on Yaz’s scrubs.

The cool tide brings with it unwelcome anxiety. She longs for moments past, from before the haze marginally cleared and she was consumed by desire, no space left for apprehension. She wants this, of course, she wants this. But it feels so much more real now in the light of lucidity.

The Doctor seems to sense the newfound clarity in Yaz and pulls back for a moment, pushing baby hairs off her forehead, “You okay?”

It’s all Yaz needs to quell the nerves. It’s the Doctor— _her Doctor_ —of course, she’s okay. “Yeah,” she smiles, “that sounds nice.”

“I can do way better than nice,” she smirks. “I hope.”

The next thing she knows the Doctor is slipping off their shirts and Yaz is stepping out her trousers. Then they’re naked. _Actually naked, with the Doctor._ The pollen is still a driving force in why they’re doing this—Yaz can still feel it burn within her, her skin still hypersensitive to every touch—but she knows what she’s doing now. It’s less rushed, more sensual.

The Doctor kisses her into the mattress as she hops on top of her, laying their bodies flush. “I’m so relieved it were you,” she mutters into her neck as she begins to kiss down her form. “I’d actually ‘av let it kill me if it were—”

“Shhhh, Doctor,” Yaz chuckles, “we don’t need any of that imagery.”

“Good point,” she takes a nipple into her mouth and feels like she could come just from that, “smart one you are, Yaz.”

“Keep sayin’ that.”

“What? That you’re smart? Smartest g—”

“No. My name,” she looks in her eyes. “Say my name, Doctor.”

The smirk she gives is wicked as she resumes her decent upon Yaz’s body, tweaking her nipples with nimble fingers, tongue dipping out into her belly button without breaking eye contact. It makes Yaz squirm. The first touch of a wet tongue on her wet heat sends her hips surging forwards, searching for finality.

“Stay still, Yaz,” she breathes across her wet folds. “Let me work.”

The firm tone sends a wave of desire through her, the assurance and the safety mingling with the tangibility of her name on the Doctor’s tongue. _“Oh, god…”_

“It’s Doctor,” she corrects with a smirk. “Works both ways.”

“Shut up, Doctor,” she huffs back through a smile but the effect is lost when the final syllables turn into a moan.

Coming usually takes longer the third— _is it fourth?_ —time. Not in this case. Within minutes Yaz is pulling her knees up, shamelessly spreading herself and pulling the Doctor closer with her heels, gasping and squirming beneath her tongue and around her intrusive fingers.

“You taste so good, Yaz,” unbridled pleasure is in her voice, seeping through the facade, “best I’ve ever tasted.”

The sound of her soft, familiar voice and her own name—reminding Yaz of who she is and who she’s with—sends her tumbling over the edge. _“Fuck, Doctor,”_ she trembles like there’s an earthquake inside her. Fingers grab at the crisp sheet and the little shocks of electricity subside.

“Was I okay? Bit rusty,” the Doctor pops up above her, all energetic and spirited. “Hope it came back to me. S’pose it’s like riding a bike. Not that you’re an inanimate object, I just mean—”

“Doctor,” she pulls her from her tangent, “just kiss me quietly for a minute.”

“Okay,” she dips down with a smile, showing no indication of being admonished.

They kiss for a while, tasting each other on their lips, desire living and dying with each gentle caress. Yaz plants her thigh between the Doctor’s legs, hot wet heat against her skin, just because she can. “Y’were more than okay, for the record,” Yaz murmurs as the Doctor rocks against her lazily. 

“Thanks,” the Doctor beams and scrunches her nose, “were a bit nervous.” She grips Yaz’s lower back, pulling her closer.

“Me too.” _Her eyes have so many colours._ “When y’said you were relieve it were me—”

“I meant I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” she whispers against her clavicle before pulling away quizzically. “I mean, not _ages_ ages. Just since I realised how much I like you. Like, a good amount of time. A normal amount.” 

_She likes me._ Yaz chuckles, “a normal amount?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor smiles back.

“Can work with that.”

“What about you?”

“Still feel like am about to wake up,” she smiles but it feels painfully honest. “Y’so unreal. I’m definitely in a coma somewhere in Royal Hallamshire Hospital,” she laughs.

“Pfft, I’ll come and wake you up.”

Yaz shakes her head as she leans in to capture her lips again, “please don’t.” She presses her knee up again and feels the Doctor’s breath hitch.

When the pressure gets too much, the Doctor slides her body back on top of Yaz to straddle her thigh. Her sticky forehead rests in the crook as Yaz’s neck as she humps her, a symphony of strained whines spilling from her lips. She slumps forward when she comes on her leg and Yaz caresses her bare back.

“We’ve still got five hours to kill,” Yaz says, scratching the head that rests on her chest.

“That doesn’t sound like nearly enough time,” the Doctor smiles, lazily tracing circles across Yaz’s burning skin.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so been there done that but does sex pollen ever really get old??? i don't think so 
> 
> thank you gutter twin ❤️


End file.
